Beautiful Sinners of New York is one of the strangest books I have ever come across. 

Ostensibly the book is written by a man who goes by the name “Flesh Peddler,” a kind of agent for models who keeps a record of all of his employees on 3 x 5 cards. The anachronistic language is  great (“she belongs strictly to the atomic age” etc) but the reason I bought the book is that I have a lovely image in my mind of some destitute freelance writer in Brooklyn coming up with these entries, laughing to his or herself the whole time.

I found it browsing the shelves of Book Thug Nation in Williamsburg.